


'twas on the good ship venus

by pyotr



Series: the terror kink meme fills [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, The Terror Kink Meme, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyotr/pseuds/pyotr
Summary: (repost, de-anon)he would regret this later, he knew, would feel wretched and filthy any time he so much as looked at either of them, would think of this as he brushed past jopson in the narrow hall or sat beside little at an officer's meeting.





	'twas on the good ship venus

**Author's Note:**

> Irving+Any, Voyeurism
> 
> Irving doesn't report anything, he watches. So many of these men, laying with one another. God help them. God help him.
> 
> Irving as a peeping Tom getting off to watching others go at it. Doesn't matter what pairing(s) or even if it's someone going solo. Might be fun to see some rare/unlikely/crack pairings - cause Irving even more confusion, and not just about his boner. Up to you!

irving had always expected more from his fellow officers.

they were meant to be gentlemen, above the rank and file, and to comport themselves as such; expected them to be clean, and intelligent, and courteous. no laziness, or shirking duties.

no fraternization.

he had been preparing for bed, originally. coat, boots, waistcoat- he'd been down to shirtsleeves when he had heard a solid-seeming  _thump_  against the wall. it was too distinct to be the ice, too centralized, and john had paused in his nightly ablutions with a frown. and then there was quiet laughter, the sound of muffled voices.

it was coming from lieutenant little's cabin.

irving didn't mean to pry, but edward had always seemed quiet, almost unsociable. john had liked him well enough; little was his superior but had never been arrogant with it, had seemed even-tempered and responsible. he had said and done everything exactly as he should, and was not offensive in his manner.

there's another thump, this time with a muted, cut-off yelp.

john scoots over, presses his ear against their shared wall. he had never seen himself as the nosey type. gossip was distasteful, and he'd never had an interest in the private goings-on of his shipmates; john had long since learned the value of privacy. but he was horribly curious, and he supposed that he could indulge just this once. after all, what was the harm?

"thomas," says a voice, and it sounded nearly like little, had it not been so, so... breathless. "thomas,  _please._ "

"of course, sir." that was plainly jopson, the captain's steward. he sounded amused more than anything, but while irving had heard him speak those same words many times to their captain, now there was a salacious lean to them that sat heavy and warm in irving's gut. there was a beat of silence, and then jopson again, "there?"

response came not in words, but in what sounded like a low moan.

he knew that he should disengage, put his coat and waistcoat back on and go to the officer's mess to wait it all out, report to the captain the doings of his men to be punished as he saw fit. but john feels rooted in place, face pressed against the wall; the wood was cool against his cheek. he could almost imagine the scene, little on his bunk, jopson on his knees with his hand around little's cock or pressing inside of him with his fingers. john felt simultaneously warm and cold, and he wasn't sure if the shiver that skittered down his spine was dismay or something more sinister.

he hoped it was the former.

little makes another noise that may-or-may-not be a moan, and then there are two muffled thuds, boots hitting the floor. wood groans and jopson laughs- a quiet chuckle- and john swallows thickly. perhaps jopson had moved into the bunk as well, now, and twisted his wrist or crooked his fingers just right; for a fleeting moment irving wonders what little looked like just then, what it was that felt best to him. did he like to to be touched tenderly, hands and mouth slow and gentle on his skin, like a lover? or would he prefer something else, something rougher-

john bites the inside of his cheek, hard. he had no place wondering these things, what little and jopson would look like together or apart; that way lay madness, he knew, and ruination.

"oh, fuck, thomas," edward gasps out, and john shifts uncomfortably, pressing his thighs together. "just put it in already."

"are you sure?"

"of course i'm-" and his voice breaks here, a long, low moan, accompanied by a barely-there, positively indecent sound from jopson, "sure.  _christ,_ thomas..."

jopson hums and then he must have done  _something,_ because little yelps again, and really, there's no way that john could have denied what he was hearing, not anymore. he would regret this later, he knew, would feel wretched and filthy any time he so much as looked at either of them, would think of this as he brushed past jopson in the narrow hall or sat beside little at an officer's meeting. john licks his lips and presses the heel of his palm to his own hardening cock, squeezing his eyes shut.

"tell me what you want," jopson says, quiet enough that john can barely hear, over the blood rushing in his ears and the little noises that little makes. still, though, the words send a shot of heat straight through him, something that pools warm and heady in his gut.

if edward responds, john doesn't hear it; he wonders if jopson has little bent over the bed or spread out on his back, what sort of faces little makes, whether or not jopson is the type to leave marks. they were both handsome and they paint a pretty picture, the two of them: pale skin and dark hair, little's fine features and long, long eyeslashes and jopson's bright eyes. john bites his tongue and fumbles for the buttons on his trousers.

he spits in his palm and when he curls his hand around himself he can't help but give a shaky sigh, tightening his grip just slightly on the upstroke and dragging the flat of his palm over the head of his cock. he told himself that many men did this, kept the company of their hands on long voyages, and there was nothing for him to be shameful of; but then, most men didn't sit pressed against a wall, listening to their fellow officers being, ah,  _intimate_ with a steward.

"let me- let me-" he can hear little stammer out, and he thinks of edward's face, the flush that must have been spread across his cheeks (and down his neck and shoulders, pinkening his skin from more than the cold), they way his mouth may have been slightly open, the furrow in his brows and the hazy, heavy-liddedness of his eyes. john clenched his teeth against a moan of his own, just as little says, "tom, thomas, just, just a little, yes, there, there-"

jopson just grunts in response and then there is a louder creak, devolving into something rhythmic, and john thinks of him, too, how jopson's pale eyes must look up close, how the steward's carefully pleasant, polite expression would unravel into something more intense, how his hands must feel over skin. he imagined a mouth at his throat, teeth scraping across his collarbone. he pushes up into his fist and bites back the quiet whimper that waits at the tip of his tongue.

things are simpler, after that, less talking, just the creaking noise of little's bunk and the quiet, half-moaned pleas and praise that the man himself provides. john himself feels overheated, near sweating in his shirtsleeves and trousers regardless of the chilly air of his cabin, and it's all enough to make his knees shake; he knows he's not to last much longer. edward cries out, sharp and then abruptly cut off, but john can still hear the way he whines, and he speeds his pace, breath coming fast and short. 

and jopson doesn't hold out for much after that, john knows, listens to his hitching moan and the way that the sound of the bunk creaking tapers off, a breathy, quiet laugh. john covers his mouth with his hand and bites down on the meat of his thumb, stifling noises of his own as he comes, shaking and curling inwards with the effort, blanking white behind his closed eyes. when he comes back to himself, breathing hard and trembling, there is no noise from little's cabin. he's not sure if jopson is still there or if he had already slipped out, and he doesn't much care to find out.

the next morning at breakfast in the officer's mess, little sits himself down across the table with the usual morning fare and a cup of tea. he glances at irving and offers a vague, absent sort of smile before looking away again, and even that brief, unknowing interaction makes john positively burn.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "friggin' in the riggin" (or "good ship venus"), a dirty drinking song about a woman aboard the venus and its crew.
> 
> historical notes: hodgson's cabin was actually between little's and irving's, but i moved it for obvious reasons.


End file.
